Fruitless soil cannot save us. Time is mist. The Gardener kneels in mercy, digging deep, calling us to repent, to abide, to bear fruit. The cross has broken the ground—life is planted. The question is not if Christ is working, but if you will yield before the ax is laid to the root.

It sounds humble. But it’s not. That quiet voice in your head saying, 'It’s pointless to hope,' isn’t realism—it’s rebellion in disguise. Irrational fatalism dresses up despair as wisdom, but underneath, it quietly accuses God of being absent, indifferent, or untrustworthy. The Cross says otherwise

When your life’s focus is pleasing God, human opinions lose their power to define or control you. Our culture often places immense pressure on pleasing others, seeking approval from leaders, coworkers, or society at large.

It’s okay to admit you’re weak—Jesus did, and Paul openly boasted in it. But what does it really mean to embrace weakness as strength? Could your vulnerability actually be God’s greatest tool in your life?

Discipleship is inevitable, the question is—discipleship of what?

Consider a bustling construction site. Cranes loom tall, steel beams clash and ring with promise, and trucks deliver endless supplies—seemingly chaotic yet orchestrated by an unseen blueprint. Initially, the site appears disorderly, messy, even frustratingly incomplete. Yet hidden within the clutter lies a meticulous design.

We readily unsheathe swords forged from our egos, wielding words honed by frustration, disappointment, and unmet expectations. Yet how often do we pause to discern if our perceived opponent truly stands before us?

Humility is the quickest solvent for arrogance—both yours and theirs.